


a thousand lives to live (and all for you)

by Claraon



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Study, Cunnilingus, F/F, In which we find out how Zelda learned all those languages and got that accent, Lilith has been alive for 5780 years don't tell me she didn't have a little fun along the way, Mythology - Freeform, Satanic proselitism, Smut, Somewhat historically accurate dildos, Tags will update with chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claraon/pseuds/Claraon
Summary: Five times Zelda finds Lilith, and one time Lilith finds her.“Kneeling like that will be no use to you or me if you’re this far away.”
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 45
Kudos: 176





	1. Venice

**Author's Note:**

> It's only taken me... a year? To write this? Thanks to [bainelland](https://bainelland.tumblr.com/) for the motivation!

The first time Zelda meets Lilith, it is at her first Carnival in Venice. She has been at orgies at the Academy, but nothing compares to this. Several days and nights she spends from palace to palace, partner to partner, dancing across the Rialto bridge in her feathered mask and enchanted shoes that ensure her feet never tire. The mortal parties are good, and the witch parties are better.

This particular year, the warlocks of Venice are celebrating the reclaiming of the Cornucopia. It has returned to Latin soil for the first time since the sack of Rome. The golden horn stands proudly in the centre of the main dining hall of the palace the witches have invested for the fortnight, positively over-spilling with candied fruits, marzipan and other sweet breads.

It is the latest of Zelda’s stops on her _Grand Tour_. As the eldest daughter of a respectable witch family, she graduated with honors from the Academy, whereupon she received a purse from her father containing enough gold to ensure her safe passage across the Atlantic and a fresh copy of _Unholy Places of Europe_ to guide her way.

She hasn’t enjoyed herself this much since her stay at the Frankenstein castle a few months back. She'd whisked away a visiting English mortal girl from her dreadfully dull male companions; while the men were upstairs drinking and writing odes to fantasized glorious deeds, Zelda had taken the girl down to remote corner of the ancient castle and successfully traded a simple show of necromancy for kiss and a brief fondle of satin against lace.

On the final day of the festivities, a Queen of the Feast is elected to be offered as tribute to Lilith, Mother of Demon, and Patron to the Unholy Carnival. People have been casting pieces of paper into a black urn throughout the night. As the bells of St Mark’s strike the witching hour, the High Priest of the Venetian coven invites them to gather round. With a spell he sets the content of the urn on fire. Zelda is instantly enchanted by the open vowels and rounded consonants with which he speaks the Latin incantation, making it feel so vibrant, a language clearly learned from living it rather than from deciphering the dusty old books of the Academy’s library. It’s so fascinating that it takes her a moment to notice the flame surging out of the urn, the piece of paper falling into the High Priest’s hand, the name being called. A silence descents upon the room.

“Zelda Spellman!” he repeats at last.

Zelda stands up from the arms of the warlock who had been feeding her grapes. She straightens her back, adjusts her mask.

“ _Sono io, Padre.”_

All eyes turn to her, and a thrill instantly runs down her spine. She is a devout witch, has studied hard, prayed to the Dark Lord every night on her knees, and he has finally rewarded her. She was born for this very purpose, of that she is certain.

***

A page-boy guides Zelda through the marble-floored salons to a great oaken door. He knocks on it twice, and nods for her to step in, closing it behind in a dull thud. She stands at the threshold of a five-sided room, dark but for an open window at its far side.

“Come closer my dear, and remove your mask.”

The woman who spoke is reclining on a chaise-longue. Zelda hasn’t said she comes from America, but perhaps she can smell it on her, or she wouldn’t address her in English. She is wearing a black muslin chemise, untied at the front to reveal far more skin than propriety would dictate. The moon drifts in from behind her, as if calculated precisely to highlight the curves of her lying figure, casting a soft glow on her delicately cascading dark hair. 

Many years later, Zelda will come across a very similar image drawn on the cover of one of Hilda’s ridiculous Harlequin novels. She will scoff at its absurdity, even as she tries and fails to stop the blush raising to her cheeks at the memory it evokes. 

But it’s 1815, Hilda is somewhere in New England surviving her third year at the Academy and Zelda’s young eyes have never seen such a captivating sight. She knows the story of Lilith of course, has known it since she was a little girl, burning her candle late into the night to re-read passages of her Unholy Bible. The first woman, and the first witch. Satan’s Concubine, bound to the Dark Lord by choice rather than obligation. It’s always fascinated her and she can hardly believe she finally gets to meet this deity.

Zelda does as she’s told, and takes a few steps towards the center of the room, reaching around her head to untie the ribbon that holds her mask up. Lilith eyes her up and down, examining her gift.

“My, what a pretty little witch they have sent me this year.”

Zelda kneels down in reverence.

“So what’s your name, dear and what brings you so far from home?”

“Zelda Spellman, my Lady. I’m on a Grand Tour. I wanted to see the old world.”

A smirk forms on Lilith’s face as she absorbs this information, sitting up with interest.

“And? Are you satisfied with what you’re seeing?”

Her change of position has opened the collar of her chemise wider, revealing a generous hint of breast. Somehow, Zelda suspects that she is perfectly aware of this. She swallows.

“Yes, my Lady.”

They remain in silence for a moment. Gondolas are gliding down the canal just below the open windows. Zelda can hear the lapping of water against wood, people exchanging a muted greeting. Finally, Lilith tuts.

“Kneeling like that will be no use to you or me if you’re this far away.”

She suddenly realizes she isn’t exactly sure how the sacrifice is supposed to take place. Will she have to slit her own throat? Is there a cup of poison from which to drink? Or will Lilith snap her neck with a spell? Zelda looks around the room for a hint of how the deed is to be done, but can make out nothing but the shadows of ornate furniture. A sudden sense of fear pulls at her entrails.

Seeming to guess what Zelda is thinking, Lilith chuckles.

“Don’t worry dear, I only eat the men.”

Zelda lets out a breath. Her soul belongs to the Dark Lord since her name was signed in His book, and any ritual sacrifice holds the promise of eternal afterlife at his side. So why is she afraid? She tries not to examine the feeling too closely.

She gets up and walks the few steps that separate them to kneel back down at the foot of chaise-longue. She’s close enough now to smell the other woman, something dark and musky and burnt at the edges.

Lilith sits up straighter and slowly spreads her legs, the dark muslin of her chemise ridding up as she goes. Zelda is starting to get an idea of where this is going.

“Of the women, I simply asked to be worshipped,” Lilith confirms, nodding down at her opened legs.

Zelda licks her lips. She was an astute student at the Academy, and made it her mission to excel in all activities on offer, including this one. Her eyes snap up to Lilith’s, fear gone and her confidence slowly easing back into her breast. She gets to work.

Her hands roam up the legs in front of her, as she repositions herself between them. When they reach the apex of Lilith’s thighs, she stops, and lets her knuckles brush gently against the other woman’s slit. She hears Lilith swallow above her, her thighs clenching in silent encouragement. Zelda takes her cue, and replaces her hand with her mouth, feather-light at first, and then bolder.

They exchange no words. The silence of the night is interrupted only by the sound of her kisses and Lilith’s shallow breath as she reclines in the chair, a leg coming to rest on Zelda’s shoulder to grant her better access.

She brushes her nose gently against Lilith’s clit, who gasps at the sudden feel of cold flesh against her burning center. The woman’s heavy perfume this up-close is positively enthralling, and Zelda swears she can taste the very brimstone of Hell with every lick. She takes her time, not wanting this to end, a dizzy sort of elation overtaking her, of the sheer power granted to her through this devotion. A sharp tug at her hair brings her back in focus. She lets out a moan, surprised at the sudden pleasure of nails against her scalp. As much as she is enjoying drawing this out, it wouldn’t be wise to anger the other woman. After all, she’s read the stories, knows what she is capable of when her will isn’t followed.

Zelda hastens her pace, and swiftly brings Lilith over the edge, muscles spasming around her fingers, hot liquid dripping down her chin. She remains still on her spot on the ground, waiting for Lilith’s breaths to slow down. The muffled sounds of a quadrille drift in from the party. They may be dancing and eating from the Cornucopia outside, but Zelda has just feasted on the sweetest thing in Venice.

She’s unsure what to do next. This particular ritual certainly wasn't included in her syllabus at the Academy. Finally, the hand Lilith still has lodged in her hair brings her up to face the other woman. Her eyes are pitch black, dark pools Zelda would gladly drown into. They breathe as one, so close together Zelda would only have to lean forward for their lips to meet.

“Are you satisfied, my Lady?” Zelda asks, echoing the witch’s words from earlier. It’s daring, she knows, verging on insubordinate, but she can’t help herself. She knows when she’s done a good job, and she wants confirmation. She wants to hear that she pleased this deity.

The hand in her hair tightens, as Lilith comes back to her senses.

"Quite," she says, and clears her throat. Her hand drops to readjust her robe. "You may go now.”

Zelda gets up, wiping her mouth with more care than necessary, her eyes never leaving Lilith’s. She is rewarded with a smile. 

“May our paths cross again soon, Miss Spellman.”

She bows, and takes her leave.

Now to set about finding that young warlock from earlier. The wet heat between her own thighs needs tending to, and he will do just fine.


	2. Flores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3? What Part 3?
> 
> Thanks as per to bainel for her nudging/advice/moral support.

The second time Zelda meets Lilith, it’s halfway across the world, off the coast of Flores, and it’s the last place Zelda would have expected to find her.

After their encounter in Venice, Zelda finishes her tour and uses the last of her gold to return to the Spellman estate. Following in her mother’s footsteps, she takes up midwifery, readying herself for a life of bringing young witches and warlocks into the world. But the traveling bug, once caught, is hard to cure, and soon enough she finds herself in her father’s study, begging for more gold and permission to leave. Her little sister Hilda has just graduated from the Academy herself, where she particularly excelled at herbology and potion-making. This gives Zelda the perfect excuse to win her case with their father: she will travel the world in search for new herbs for Hilda and healing lore for herself, to give him the most accomplished daughters in New England.

It works.

She leaves for the Old World the following week, and soon makes her way East, through the Ottoman Empire on to India, then Siam. The East Indies are of particular interest to her because they grow so many unique spices and herbs of potent power.

She’s been in Java for less than a week, when a Dutch sailor who means to dazzle his way under her petticoat takes her to a Wayang shadow-puppet show. It is dazzling indeed, the intricately carved puppets gliding on the screen like swans on a lake in time with the sophisticated bells of Gamelan music. But what fascinates Zelda most is the story. An evil King has trapped his daughter in his palace’s garden and tries to force her to marry a Prince she doesn’t love. She flees and wanders years through the desert until she is rescued by a beautiful angel who gives her magic and eternal life in return for her service. There is no doubt about it, this is the story of Lilith. The angel even has a pentagram carved on his armour. But it has a twist ending: the story doesn’t finish with her being the first to sign her name in the Book of the Beast and becoming the first witch, like it does in the Unholy Bible. Instead it continues with her sailing to a new land and inviting others to join the angel’s ranks to build an army to overthrow her evil King-father. 

What’s even more surprising is to find out through chatting with the locals with the help of her Javanese-speaking sailor that this isn’t some ancient tale, but in fact a new story from Flores. Deciding she must learn more, she finds the next boat going East and leaves the next day. On Flores she finds a Portuguese missionary who confirms that some locals have recently deserted the Catholic Church to follow She-devil in her worship of Satan. They were chased off Flores, he assures her, and have taken refuge on a smaller island to the North. He urges her not to go there for it will only bring her ill-luck. It takes Zelda a few well-placed spells to get her the rest of the way.

The sun is setting when a small fishing boat drops her off on a deserted beach, the fisherman spitting in the sand to conjure the evil spirit that undoubtedly lives there before setting off. There is smoke rising in the distance, and Zelda follows a trail through the bushes to a village. The smoke is coming from a great bonfire in the central square, the villagers holding hands in a circle around it. The rhythmic lull of a Latin incantation rises from the assembly, a familiar wave of magic pulling Zelda in until she stands close enough to feel the heat of the fire lick at her. They appear to be led by a High Priestess of sorts, clad in dark ceremonial robes, a crown of frangipani flowers adorning her thick dark hair.

Suddenly the chanting stops, and the fire turns a bright blue Zelda has only heard tales of before. _Hellfire_. In her surprise, Zelda takes a moment to notice that the Priestess’ eyes have opened, and they are looking straight at her.

It’s _her_. But different. She looks… well, local. Golden skin and large, dark almond eyes. Surprise on her face. A smile. She remembers Zelda.

***

Lilith’s hut sits some way away from the centre of the village, up a little path bordered by ferns and palm trees. Wreaths of brightly coloured flowers decorate its entrance, their heady scent clouding the air around them, at once comforting and enticing. Lilith invites her in, offers her some water, which Zelda accepts gratefully.

She is starting to feel self-conscious. Since the show in Java, she has been so focused on finding Lilith that she is only now realizing that she did not think once about what she would do once she actually found her. The intense gaze with which Lilith is now examining her doesn’t help settle her nerve in the least.

“Zelda Spellman, was it?”

Zelda can only nod, stunned. Recognizing her face is one thing, but it’s been almost thirty years since she went down on her knees on the marble floor of that Venetian palace to worship the Demoness.

“And you can all this way just for me?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Lilith smiles.

Zelda has a million questions. What she is doing in this far-flung corner of the world, whether these East Indian witches already had magic before Lilith showed them the Path of Night, how she can look so different and yet entirely herself. She starts with the last one.

“Well after the first millennium or so, one starts to tire of one’s appearance. So now I find souls in need of damnation, and take over their appearance.”

Though this makes sense, the implications are dizzying, and only make Zelda want to ask more questions. Until now she had assumed that as the Dark Lord’s Concubine, Lilith would spend most of her time enjoying the pleasures of Hell at his side, not sweating and toiling on the earthly plane with the rest of witch-kind. But she is not one to question His will. Instead she simply nods.

“Well, you’re right in time. Our latest converts are getting ready to sign their names in the Book of the Beast.”

And just like that, Zelda stays. She is given a room in one of the village’s huts and settles into a routine of sorts. The older women of the Coven put her to work as one of their own, tending the communal garden, weaving batiks of bright colours and complex patterns. They help their tasks along with a mixture of familiar Latin spells and others foreign ones in a language she doesn’t recognize, giving Zelda the answer to her second question: magic was clearly here before Lilith arrived, and she must be working to make sure it is used to its full potential to grow the forces of the Path of Night.

The afternoons are for Scripture study, Lilith reading out loud from the Unholy Bible. Zelda doesn’t have much Portuguese but she can see the passion with which the Demoness tells the story of their Dark Lord, the patience with which she answers the Coven’s questions, the verve with which she demonstrates the power of the Churches of Night.

It’s easy to see how these witches would abandon their lives under the False God to follow Lilith on this rock of an island. Zelda herself is enthralled. Though Lilith seemingly pays equal attention to all, she has a way of catching Zelda’s eye when no one else is looking, and smiling at her as if they are both in on the same joke. It sends a thrill down the witch’s spine every time.

Finally, the day of the Dark Baptism comes. At nightfall, the whole Coven gathers at the beach and work on building a bonfire larger than the one they use for Dark Mass in the centre of the village. The Book of the Beast is laid out on a stone altar, and soon the ceremony starts. A goat is sacrificed, spells cast, Unholy wine drunk. Zelda finds strange comfort in taking part in this familiar ritual under foreign stars, a sudden pang of homesickness tightening around her throat. 

The ceremony draws to a close with the formal signing in blood of the three new recruits’ names in His book, giving way to celebration. Monsoon season isn’t quite upon them yet, and the air is thick and warm on the island, made warmer still by tall licks of hellfire flames around which they have gathered. Rhythmic music starts to play, some kind of alcoholic beverage made from palm sugar sap is passed around the assembly. The surge of magic released by the newly baptised witches adds to the intoxication, the atmosphere crackling around them, drawing all members of the Coven in a frenzied dance.

Soon Zelda finds herself joining them. There are hands around her hips, lips on her neck, and she can’t say she doesn’t enjoy the attention – her last sexual encounter was weeks ago in Java with that Dutch sailor and was less than satisfactory. It’s her own fault for settling for a mortal, really. This is much better, but it can only go so far.

With every kiss, every caress, Zelda becomes more acutely aware that the only person whose hands she really wants on her hasn’t partaken in the group activity. As her arousal rises she begins to grow restless, and looks around to find that Lilith has instead elected to sit on her own some way away from the fire. She is staring off at the sea, seemingly oblivious to the commotion around her. With her arms wound tightly around her knees, she looks small, fragile, a far cry from the regal fire and brimstone preacher she embodied earlier.

Zelda’s heart squeezes in her chest. _That simply won’t do._

She disentangles herself without difficulty from the mass of writhing bodies, and walks to the Demoness. If Lilith hears her approach she doesn’t show, only looking up when Zelda plants herself squarely in front of her, extending a hand to bring Lilith to her feet. Lilith lets herself be pulled up. It’s the first time they’ve touched since Venice. Zelda’s thumb finds itself dancing across the delicate knuckles, not ready to let go.

“Is everything alright, my Lady?”

“Oh yes, fine.” She smiles at Zelda, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. Whatever is on her mind, she clearly won’t say.

“Why don’t you join us then?”

“Whenever I partake in such festivities, it tends to pull the focus…”

That surprised Zelda, because she has seen how Lilith preens whenever her followers show her attention, whether is crowning her with fresh flowers or fawning over her displays of dark magic. She enjoys attention very much, of that she is certain.

“And tonight is about the newly-baptised, communing with the Dark Lord. Not about me,” she finishes meekly.

 _Every night since I landed here has been about you_ , Zelda wants to reply, but chooses to silence her with a kiss instead. It’s soft and chaste, a press of lips and a shared sigh.

“Then let’s slip away. That palm sugar drink is more potent than it appears. I doubt any of them will notice,” she nods towards the pile of bodies that has stopped pretending they are dancing and have descended into an orgy that will certainly make the Dark Lord proud.

They make their way to Lilith’s hut in silence, and once inside, Lilith lets her take the lead. Zelda kisses her like she had wanted to all those years ago, hot and impatient, the thunder of unspent magic from the baptism rolling through them in waves. She licks her way down her neck, hands fumbling over the ties that hold their robes close, first Lilith’s and then hers, until finally, _finally_ the touch of skin against skin. It feels so good that Zelda has to bite at the collarbone in front of her to keep herself from moaning.

They fumble in the dark to the bedding, landing in a soft thud. She is determined to show Lilith that deserves every praise, every attention she has to give. She resumes her trail down the Demoness’ body, reaching her navel before she feels a tug at her hair. She looks up, question in her eye.

“Up here,” is all she gets in answer, a knee sneaking up between her legs, grounding her, propelling her forward. She is more than happy to comply. _Anything for you, my Lady._

***

Four months she spends on the island, perhaps five. Her days are spent among the budding Coven. She teaches some midwifery to the local women, embalms their dead. She learns a lot, too, about local plants and healing techniques. She keeps a journal of her discoveries, and sends long letters detailing them to Hilda, seeds and dried samples enclosed. Her nights are all Lilith’s. 

One of those nights, as they lie naked on their bedding, a strange thought comes to Zelda. Lilith could not have come here to convert the people of Flores if the Portuguese had not already introduced them to Christianity. The Dark Lord, in other words, cannot exist without the False God. To accept the Path of Night, one must reject the Path of Light, and therefore necessarily admit its existence. His power is not infinite since it is inextricably linked to that of another. It shocks her that this had never occurred to her before.

They are sharing a clove cigarette in companionable silence, Lilith sitting up against the wall, Zelda wrapped lazily around her middle. Zelda had never been one for the taste of tobacco until now, but mixed with the spice in this way, it makes her head spin and her lips tingle in the most delicious way, especially fresh from having been put to good use between her Demoness’s legs. Said Demoness has a hand buried in her hair, idly untying knots and laying one lock after another out onto her stomach. Zelda thinks she could happily spend her life in this very moment. But her epiphany is too important to keep it to herself. She takes a drag, and looks up at Lilith to share it.

“What a blasphemous, impertinent witch you are,” Lilith admonishes, nails coming to scratch at her scalp. For the first time since landing here, there is danger in her eyes. But Zelda doesn’t back down, as another realization overtakes her.

“He wouldn’t exist without you, either.” Lilith tended for Him after His fall, giving Him strength when He had none, staying by His side without fail to build Him an empire across the realms.

This suggestion has Lilith truly shocked. Her mouth falls open, and there is fire dancing in her eyes. Zelda wonders if she’s gone too far. She looks down, readying herself to pull away, to apologize, but all thoughts are interrupted by a sharp tug at her head pulling her up, Lilith’s open mouth descending hungrily on her.

The angle is awkward and messy, all tongue and teeth and Zelda moans loud enough to be heard down in the village. Lilith doesn’t appear to mind. She quickly flips them over, and takes Zelda like she never has before.

***

One day a boat from the main island brings a letter engraved with the Spellman crest. Her mother has given birth to a new child, a boy. Edward is the name they gave him in the Book of the Beast, and her father writes that he is already showing signs of strong magic. _Her mother did not survive the babe_. Those seven little words close the letter, included almost as an afterthought. She feels like a dagger has just been planted in her chest. The Church of Night prides itself in freedom and a progressive stance compared to mortal ways, but Zelda knows just how little value it gives to female life _._ The very reason she studied midwifery was to give witches better care, knowing the dangers motherhood reserved for them.

Standing on the beach, her feet digging into the wet sand, she hears every wave that thrashed around her legs like the sound of her world crashing, the bubble of her tropical paradise burst by a single piece of yellowed paper. 

She doesn’t realize her hands are shaking until she feels a something fall out of the open envelope. It’s a maple leaf wrapped in a summoning spell, enchanted no doubt, by Hilda’s doing. _Come home._

She should have been there. That she hadn’t even known her mother had been with child is irrelevant. _She should have been there._

She finds Lilith at her weaving in their hut at the top of the hill. She takes one look at Zelda and tenses.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Zelda can see it clearly. What her life on this island could have been, growing precious herbs and worshipping Satan under the moonlight. She has travelled enough to be under no illusion about the supposed perfection of the “savage life” Europeans fantasize about. These people aren't savages. They love, they grieve, feel joy and and fear and anger; lead lives as rich and complex as anywhere else. No, life here is by no means perfect. But with Lilith at her side…

She kneels down beside her, taking cradling the Demoness’s hands in hers.

“You could come with me?”

Lilith laughs, and it’s like a whip slashing Zelda’s face. “My sweet Zelda. You think yourself worldly but there are so many things you’ve yet to learn.”

She stumbles backward from the strength of the blow. _Stupid Zelda._ Island life has made her soft, made her forget who she was talking to. As if the Mother of Demon, the Dawn of Doom, Satan's Concubine would care enough about her to take her up on such a foolish suggestion.

She gets up and turns around to hide the deep red of hurt and humiliation marring her cheeks.

Her fists are tightly clenched when she feels Lilith arms encircle her from behind. She is shorter that Zelda, and has to stand on her toes to perch her chin on Zelda’s shoulder, close enough to press a kiss to her ear and whisper.

“All witches serve at the Dark Lord’s pleasure. Even I.”

Last night they lay together they take their time. Zelda finds herself peppering kisses on the inside of Lilith’s thighs, knuckles ghosting over where the other woman wants her the most, determined to draw out Lilith’s pleasure as long as she can. The thighs tighten around her face, and she hears a muted “please” from above her. It’s as close to begging as Zelda has ever heard from her.

Lilith hasn’t asked Zelda to stay, and she realizes in that moment that she wants nothing more than to hear her do so. As she stares up into the endless dark pools of her lover’s eyes, understands that if she falls now, there is no going back. 

Edward will need looking after, and she does not trust Hilda to be strong enough to lead him on the Path of Night. It has to be her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love 🖤


	3. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris 1900s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been over six months since the last installment. I have no excuse. The linear passage of time is a construct anway.

Electricity. A long way had come since Ben Franklin first caught lightening at the tip of his kite, and electricity has made its way into every aspect of mortal life. It lights houses, sends messages across continents, animates evermore intricate machines. With its help and that of the steam engine, the mortal world is expanding one railway track at a time, and its wake the magical world dwindles.

The Spellmans are not immune to the draw of this new, buzzing life. Edward has shone through his years at the Academy and has moved on to Rome to continue his scholastic climb towards High Priesthood. Hilda has gone to London and appears to take a delight in weaving her way into the lives of mortals, filling their children’s days with magical adventures under the guise of raising them. Zelda herself is on the road again, and like a moth drawn to the proverbial light, she has made her way to the brightest city of them all – Paris. Everything seems larger than life here. The bustles are bigger, the corsets are tighter, the chignons higher. Wondrous metallic constructions are sprouting from the ground to celebrate the achievements of the new gods of Science and Progress the mortals seem to now worship. Painters are finding new ways to see in Montmartre, musicians new ways to hear at the Conservatory, dancers new ways to move at the Châtelet theatre.

There’s a decadent feeling in the air, and Zelda fully immerses herself in it, one absinthe at a time. She’s not the only witch to find her way there, others being driven from their forests, bogs, and mountains as the old ways are hacked away to produce fodder for the furnaces Industrial Revolution. Luckily, a new-found obsession in Spiritism has given the less scrupulous of them great ways to earn a living and blend into mortal life through Ouija board _s_ _é_ _ances_ and other Tarot card readings, safely hidden amongst enterprising charlatans. At first, Zelda is reluctant to participate in such debasing of her religion. Eventually, she has to admit that is it a simple enough way to earn her keep and leaves her with plenty of time to enjoy all the things the City of Light has to offer.

And enjoy them she does. She has taken a couple of rooms on the hill of Montmartre, in a shabby building that has not yet quire recovered from the shambles of the last revolt, and would certainly make her father’s blood boil if he ever sees it, but it puts her right at the centre of the action. After a successful divination consultation, she joins her bohemian friends for a late lunch at a café, which quickly gives way to dinner at a cabaret, and more often than not ends with a nightcap in an opium den.

It is in one such establishment that she hears one night of a new medical treatment for women’s health that her friend Léontine tried the week before, and now swears by. “It felt so good it cannot have been of this world,” she whispers in the dimly lit corner of pillows on which they recline. “It left me more relaxed than whatever they put in these pipes.” She waves in the air to emphasize her point, releasing a large cloud of smoke about their heads. “And none of the melancholy that comes after, according to Dr Morningstar.”

At the name Zelda perks up her from her hazy state. She must try it alright.

A public demonstration is to be held the next day, and so Zelda goes. The adresse Léontine gives her is in one of the grand new apartment buildings near the Opera house that boasts access to gas and water on every floor. She is guided by a maid to a lavatory where she is instructed to change into a bathing costume of dark linen like she has seen gentleladies wear on the beaches of Deauville. “The demonstration requires our clients to have full range of movement,” the maid explains. “Do not worry, men are strictly forbidden on the premises.”

Zelda doesn’t ask about Dr Morningstar. She has an inkling there is no such person, and this is the operation run by an altogether different demonic being.

In the main salon, a dozen or so women dressed in the same bathing costume are sitting in silence in half-circle of chairs arranged at the centre of the room. A nervous current of excitement seems to be running through them. A couple of nod to acknowledge Zelda’s entrance, but they all otherwise seem to be carefully avoiding each other’s gaze. Zelda groans internally. What has happened to upper-class women over this century? It feels like only yesterday that she was gallivanting in her underthings in Venetian palaces indiscriminately jumping from the arms of strong men and supple women in the quest for carnal delights.

And now these same lovely bodies blush at the mere notion that they might be a source of pleasure. All these stern men in white coats and neatly trimmed bears have been too busy attempting to prove the natural laws that witches have known for centuries, conveniently leaving being their female counterparts in absurd darkness. Satan help her.

Zelda’s musings are interrupted by the wide doors of the adjoining salon opening to reveal their host. One quick glance at her and her suspicions are confirmed. _Lilith._ Ascended on Paris to do the Unholy work of reacquainting the _bourgeoisie_ with their bodies. She would recognize the signature vibration of her magic anywhere. 

Her hair is as thick and dark as ever, coiffed in an intricate chignon at the top of her head to fit the current fashion. Her eyes are a murky green, nose small, face round – she would be right at home in a Lautrec painting. Her dress is simple, giving her the air of a schoolmistress or laboratory assistant, small spectacles pushed on her nose to complete the appearance of the serious and scientifically trained.

And yet when her eyes find Zelda’s she gives a slow grin that is so positively sinful that it sends a spark right down to Zelda’s core. Whatever fabled new invention Lilith is about to present, Zelda isn’t sure she is going to need it after all.

Behind Lilith enters the assistant who opened the door earlier, pushing a cart that holds a multitude of metallic instruments. They are all connected by wires to some sort of power generator in the middle.

The demonstration starts.

“My dear ladies, it is a pleasure to see so many of you here today to witness the latest innovation in the treatment of female hysteria. As you well know, hysteria is a terrible functional disorder that plagues many of our sex, and Dr Morningstar of London has designed this device especially for its alleviation.”

She turns to her assistant.

“Clothilde, if you will.”

The girl goes around the room handing a device to each woman. It is a wand-like thing about a foot long, with a handle at one end and a curved top at the other. The metal is cool under Zelda’s touch, and she can’t detect any spell attached to it. This is a purely mortal device, then. She grows suspicious. What could they have invented that witches couldn’t do just as well with magic?

“Hysteria,” Lilith continues, “is caused by an imbalance of the nervous system. This device stimulates the nerves to unlock the stuck energy that our weak bodies cannot handle to restore balance and liberate the mind.”

She gives a nod to the assistant, who turns a switch on the central machine.

The device comes alive in Zelda’s hand, buzzing like a beehive at the height of summer.

“Now ladies, if you would please watch me closely and replicate my movements.” Lilith’s eyes meet Zelda’s again with a twinkle.

She places the buzzing end of the wand on her shoulder, and the audience follows suit. A surprised murmur rises from the group. On contact with the body, even through the fabric of her bathing costume, Zelda can feel the vibrations spreading through her. It is quite unlike anything she has ever experiences. Magic harnesses the energies of the natural world, but it also needs to come from within the witch, two waves twisting and mending to merge in the middle. This feels harsher, more metallic, though not entirely unpleasant.

After running it down both arms, Lilith speaks again. “Now, as I explained, hysteria is caused by a blockage of the nerves around the female reproductive parts. The Morningstar device has been especially conceived to release this blockage in a targeted fashion, which I will now demonstrate. Do not worry ladies, the procedure is perfectly safe.”

She sits down on a chair behind her, spreads her legs, and sure enough, starts to lower the device down to her lower stomach.

A mix of fear and excitement rushes through the audience. No one utters a word. The only sound to be heard is the buzz of the wands, hypnotizing in their pulsing rhythm. Surely these ladies must have had some idea of what they were coming here to do, though Zelda admits she didn’t think the activity would be quite so public, especially in the middle of the afternoon.

A few of the women close their eyes as they replicate Lilith’s movements, the others carefully avoid looking at each other, a task rendered difficult by the half-circle position in which they sit.

Zelda’s own eyes are fixed on Lilith, butterflies fluttering in her stomach in anticipation.

She has been touching herself and seeing to her own needs since before her first Lupercalia, but she can easily see how such a device would open up a whole range of new possibilities. A moan erupts from somewhere on her left. Lilith assures them that the sensations are normal, that this is all part of the therapy, though of course anyone is welcome to stop at any point as each body is different. They continue their collective downward journey. The demoness has entranced her audience of repressed _bourgeoises_ completely, and still Zelda can detect no spell, only the magic of Lilith’s charisma, the calming confidence she exudes.

Zelda feels absolutely no shame in aiming for her clitoris, where the pleasant buzzing turns into a delicious hum that reverberates through her entire body.

The room has narrowed to the wand between her legs and Lilith’s eyes on her, watching. She wants more, wants to see how much more pressure she can take from the electric machine, display herself fully for Lilith, company be damned. Just as she’s found a new angle that hits her _just right,_ closing her eyes and stifling a groan, the buzzing stops.

Lilith clears her throat, the Unholy, evil thing that she is, an innocent smile on her face as if she doesn’t know perfectly well what she has just done. Soon enough, her assistant is passing around collecting devices and smoothly handing each lady an order slip in its place. Lilith thanks them one by one for coming, showing the dazed group of women to the changing room one by one. Zelda stays in her seat.

Finally, Lilith turns back to her, the gleam in her eyes from earlier having turned in a hungry look.

“Clothilde, you’ll be able to tidy up yourself? I’d like to offer Ms Spellman a more… private demonstration.” 

She is shown to the adjoining room, offered a glass of port. She welcomes the taste of the liquor burning her throat, allowing her a moment to recover from the experience. Lilith is taller than her, she realizes, as she walks up to her. That’s new. She deposits her glass on the table beside them, and she has to lean up to reach the other woman’s lips. They are soft as ever, and go pliant beneath hers as hands sneak up the back of her neck, holding Zelda in place. She smells of the latest Givenchy creation, something floral and heavy, but her magic tastes the same.

There are many words on the tips of Zelda’s tongue. “I love you.” “I miss you.” “Do you hear my prayers at night?” but they sound so hollow in her mind, too trite to express what she’s feeling.

Their lips separate at last, Lilith briefly resting her forehead against Zelda’s before stepping back.

“I’ve been experimenting with a new model,” she says, pointing to a stool behind Zelda. “Unfortunately it’s not quite stable yet and I have to enchant it to keep it from breaking, so it's not quite ready for public consumption.”

On top of the stool is a similar contraption as the hand-held device Zelda used earlier, though this one is definitely more obviously phallic in shape, rounded at the top with an expanding base attached to the seat.

“Would you like to try it?”

Zelda’s interest is piqued, her inner muscles clenching. Lilith comes to rest her hands on Zelda’s shoulder, letting her examine this new device.

“I know you think about me when you touch yourself,” she whispers, breath hot against Zelda’s ear, “I can hear it.”

_That’s a “yes” on the hearing of prayers, then._

Kisses snake down her neck, hands sliding down to find the waistband of her bathing costume, slipping inside it to grip her hips.

“If you like it, you can take it home with you after,” Lilith continues, her fingers slowly making their way to where Zelda wants them most.

The comment, though probably well-intentioned, only serves to remind Zelda that this reunion can only be temporary. The realization twists like a knife in Zelda’s stomach and she hates it. She hasn’t felt this vulnerable in a long time. She was sure she had left behind the wide-eyed girl who had let herself imagine a future that she could share with the Mother of Demons all these years ago.

Determined not to let her feelings show, she turns in Lilith’s arms and captures her lips again in a passionate kiss, grabbing a hold of the other woman’s ass to roughly bring their bodies together, her teeth biting at her lower lip when she lets out a gasp. Lilith lets out a chuckle as they step apart again, eyes dark, breath heavy.

“Do you have many women across the globe you fuck every forty years?” Zelda finally settles on.

Lilith stays silent, raises an eyebrow, her gaze inscrutable.

Zelda realizes doesn’t want to know the answer. Both a “yes” or a “no” would hurt.

Lilith is opening her mouth to reply but when she is interrupted by the maid Clothilde coming in bearing a tray.

“A telegram, ma’am.”

Lilith’s nostrils flare, her eyes roll.

“Can’t you see I’m presently occupied?” she asks in a sharp tone, not bothering to disentangle herself from Zelda’s arms or turn around to address the girl.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but it says it’s from… Dr Morningstar.”

Her expression freezes. There’s something in her eyes that Zelda has never seen in all the time they’ve spent together. _Fear._

Zelda had an inkling that the Dark Lord was not directly involved in this little entreprise, but now she is wondering whether he knew of it at all - whether Lilith was stretching her freedom too far. Zelda had always assumed that as His Concubine, she exuded a certain amount of power, as his prophet, advisor and confident. Exactly how much freedom did she have anyway? 

Lilith has turned to pick up the telegram, face carefully neutral once again. A long silence stretches, the maid shifting on her feet uncomfortably. Zelda isn’t quite relaxed herself, hands fiddling the hem of her borrowed costume.

“Perhaps,” she suggests, “I could come back some later?”

Lilith gaze meets hers from somewhere far away, seemingly remembering that she is still in the room at all. The note crumples in a palm of her hand with a crisp sound.

“Yes, I think that would be wise.”

The next day Zelda returns to the same address, but the sign has disappeared from the door. With a little persuasion spell, she makes her way past the housekeeper and into the apartment. She finds it completely empty, with a lingering smell of sulphur as the only sign that Lilith was ever there at all. _So much for later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love as always <3

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love :)


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